


waiting game

by liginamite



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, M/M, Toys, Vibrators, deblanc is a demon, in which i lovingly describe anatol yusef's body as much as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The span of time between "very soon" and "right now" is pretty much entirely defined by what happens in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting game

**Author's Note:**

> IS MOTEL PORN EVEN A THING ANYMORE _WHO CARES_ NOT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It starts, as strange things tend to, in a motel room. 

“Do you think it’s different for them?”

The motel room isn’t... bad. They’ve only been in a handful of motels, briefly, so there’s a relative margin of error there, but the television has ten channels and only occasionally blips out in rows of static. So that’s nice enough. Fiore’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching, contemplating whether or not he should go back to the vending machine. Meanwhile DeBlanc’s distracted, flicking through the pages of the motel Holy Bible with his brows furrowed, but he still looks up to see what Fiore’s asking about.

“What?” 

Fiore gestures at the TV with a hand.

DeBlanc's line of sight follows where Fiore’s pointing, zeroes in on the screen that shudders with another burst of static before settling again. A man and a woman, locked in an embrace before they confess undying love and seal their lips together in a heated kiss, hands roaming and burying in each other’s hair. DeBlanc watches for a moment, seemingly interested, and then turns back to the Bible and flips another page.

“Dunno. I would imagine so.” 

Fiore hums his response, watching more closely as the man tugs the woman’s shirt over her head, a waterfall of blond hair sweeping across her back from the motion. His big hands cup her waist, draw red lines down pale skin. The static twitches across the picture again and then settles with a low buzz. He half expects the lights to flicker again. 

“Why are you watching that, anyway?” DeBlanc asks after a couple more minutes of silence. He’s still reading the Bible, but while his eyes are cast downwards, it’s clear his attention has focused more on the television. The two on the screen have really begun to enjoy themselves, moaning and groaning as more clothes are discarded. 

“It’s the only thing on. All the other channels are just commercials.” 

Fiore can hear the Bible being shut and placed on the bedside table, and then the soft _zip_ of cord on metal. He turns to investigate, finds that DeBlanc’s loosened and removed the bolo tie around his neck, unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. It’s hot in the room, even with the blazing sun blissfully set and the temperature down, and after a moment of contemplation Fiore tugs off his tie, too, opens the collar of his shirt. 

“You,” DeBlanc says, and Fiore watches him out of the corner of his eye as he comes up around the corner of the bed, stands in front of him so that he’s almost between Fiore’s knees, “are being grumpy.”

“I’m not being grumpy.” He’s well aware of how childish his response sounds. 

DeBlanc makes a soft noise, like a breath of laughter. He’s close enough that Fiore can see the reflection of the low light in his dark eyes, and there’s a softness there that’s been missing for the last few weeks. He reaches out to straighten the folds of Fiore’s collar. 

“In time,” is what he says, his hands flattening some of the wrinkles. 

“ _Very soon._ ” Fiore’s tone is sour. A git, that one was.

“We just have to wait.” DeBlanc’s hands are warm and broad and firm, spread out against Fiore’s chest. “Very soon may not be very long at all.” 

Fiore lets out a breath through his nose, fingers twitching where he’s rest them against his knees. DeBlanc is still just idly touching, moving here and there to work out a fold or crease, and soon enough his hands move upwards. They graze over the fading red of Fiore’s swollen eye, check the long scabs over his temple. He’s the more naturally tactile of the two of them, likes to keep some sort of contact between them. Fiore’s never minded. He enjoys that point of contact, appreciates knowing that DeBlanc is always nearby. 

When DeBlanc presses his lips to Fiore’s, it’s welcome. They’ve kissed in their human bodies before, and DeBlanc’s hands are warm where they’ve cupped Fiore’s jawline, tilted him up the little bit to compensate for where Fiore’s still sitting on the edge of the bed. There’s a tenseness in both of them, and Fiore can feel it in how DeBlanc kisses him, the way they both don’t quite know what to do with themselves.

The woman on the tv moans loudly, sinfully, and they both pause. 

“I should turn off the television,” Fiore says after a moment. There’s a bit of heat in his cheeks, and DeBlanc’s breath huffs against his lips in the form of another laugh. His broad hands are still cupped warm and heavy against Fiore’s cheeks, and his mouth hasn’t moved very far away from Fiore’s. It’s intimate in such a _human_ way, makes his stomach flip and his cheeks turn pink.

Fiore’s not sure he doesn’t like it. Feeling human. 

They kiss again, and DeBlanc mutters, “well, the television gave me an idea.” 

Hesitantly, Fiore raises his arms, wraps one around the small line of DeBlanc’s waist, other hand finding thick fabric to grab a hold of. It pulls DeBlanc closer to him, makes him have to tilt his head up to look up into dark eyes. He can see the burn of the demon underneath, can see the fire lit there and the thick black of his pupils that’s filled with longing and patience and a gentleness he could never have expected. DeBlanc had always told him Fiore’s eyes reminded him of the sky, but were Fiore to do the same he’d call DeBlanc’s eyes something like the ocean, filled with a depth he cannot comprehend, fierce and mysterious. 

They’re pressed tight to each other, enough to feel the thumping of each other’s hearts, and Fiore says quietly, “an idea?” He already has an inkling.

DeBlanc hums his answer, his fingers running through Fiore’s hair. He’s figured out the shower by now, and shampoo, and all the dried blood and sweat was rinsed out earlier to leave it soft and cool to the touch. He likes playing with Fiore’s hair, which is absolutely fine, because Fiore likes the feel of it, the way it sends shivers down his spine. 

“Do you remember,” DeBlanc says very fondly, and his eyelashes are making long shadows across the slopes of his cheeks, “all the things we gathered for when we managed to find Genesis? In our trunk?” 

Odd pillow talk, but they’ve had stranger conversations. Fiore considers.

“Yes.” 

“Do you remember one of the things we bought?” 

Fiore has to think on that one for a moment. They bought a lot of things when they came down to Earth; he’s most fond of the chainsaw (which he’s already used and no manner of disarticulation at the hands of some sloppy drunk is going to change that) but he can’t think of anything that would be proper for their conversation.

“It, uh, we didn’t know what it was at first,” DeBlanc offers carefully, and his hands have moved down to start unbuttoning more of Fiore’s shirt. His idea, then, is exactly what Fiore had been suspecting. They have to lean away from each other for DeBlanc to do so, their chests no longer close, but Fiore doesn’t mind as much. DeBlanc’s lips have moved downwards, finding where places are sensitive and make Fiore breath out hard through his nose. 

“Ah, um. The bear trap?”

“No, no. We knew what that did, my love. Think harder.” 

He’s having a difficult time thinking at all, with DeBlanc’s hands slipping underneath his shirt to brush along his waist. He has crafty hands, _devilish_ hands, makes Fiore have to gather what scattered parts of his memory are left in the wake of the distraction before he can zero in on another answer-- which is to grab DeBlanc around the waist in a tight grip and pull him down, twist around so that he can push him down into the bed. 

DeBlanc lets out a startled huff as he hits the mattress, one arm hooked around Fiore’s neck to ground himself as he gathers his bearings. 

“Grenade,” Fiore says promptly, and DeBlanc breathes out a laugh.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. You _love_ the grenades.” 

“I don’t know, then,” Fiore says, starts undoing the buttons of DeBlanc’s shirt in turn. It’s all very similar to Heaven-- the way they have to disrobe, the shivers that run down his spine, but there’s something raw to it down here, something unique. It’s human and new, the hot feeling of skin and sweat and the heat between his legs where his slacks have become somewhat tight and uncomfortable. “You could give me a hint.” 

“It buzzes,” DeBlanc says simply, fingers tracing idle patterns along Fiore’s skin. 

“...the taser?” Now Fiore’s just confused. 

DeBlanc sighs, though it’s more fond than anything. His thumb runs over the scabs on Fiore’s temple again, as if he’s checking them one last time. He sits up as Fiore sits back, the two of them ever in sync. When he kisses Fiore again it’s soft and sweet and… hesitant, like he’s not sure that soft and sweet is what he wants.

“Let me up,” he mutters against Fiore’s lips, “and I’ll show you.” 

Fiore doesn’t _want_ to let him up, wants all these points of contact to stay between the two of them, but he’s also curious to see what it is DeBlanc is talking about, and so he shifts to the side. DeBlanc hauls himself back up and off the bed, wobbles a little over to their trunk and starts digging through it. Fiore flops back down on the bed, isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. This body is still new to him, he’s still working out the mechanics of it. But touching is nice, grazing his own fingers across his bare skin feels good.

He’s still just gently trailing his fingers along his chest when the bed dips next to him, and he realizes his eyes had fluttered closed. DeBlanc’s waiting there when he opens them, watching his motions. There is a softness there in his expression, something open and gentle that reminds him of their little home in Heaven before everything went to shit, before they had to come down here and get back what was theirs.

“...what?” he asks, after a couple of seconds of silence. He almost pushes himself up onto his hands, but he’s comfortable spread out on the bed, and instead only turns his head a little to better see.

DeBlanc shrugs.

“I’m appreciating the view. You touching yourself is attractive.”

There’s a bit of heat in his cheeks as Fiore says, “well, I don’t know what to do, really. Human bodies are… complicated.”

“Mmm.” DeBlanc reaches out with a hand, touches the backs of his fingers to Fiore’s cheek. He’s got something in his other hand, but he’s holding it between his knees so that it’s just out of sight. “Close your eyes, love. I want to try something.”

Fiore squints at him.

“What do you want to try?”

DeBlanc just lifts his chin, so he’s looking down his nose instead, and raises his eyebrows.

“Well, now, that would defeat the purpose of you closing your eyes, wouldn’t it?” 

Fiore makes a disgruntled noise after a few seconds of contemplating that, but he obediently shuts his eyes again and leans into the pillow, sighing.

There’s a whole lot of nothing, at first, just the gentle push and pull of DeBlanc hauling himself onto the bed and apparently getting ready for whatever it is he’s going to do. Fiore keeps his arms loosely at his side, pads of his fingers rubbing against each other in anticipation. But DeBlanc just tugs at his shirt, tugs the hem out of his waistband and then unbuttons it completely, lets the white shirt fan out underneath Fiore like petals. 

“...you’re making me nervous, whatever it is you’re doing.” 

“Hush,” DeBlanc soothes, pecking at his forehead, but there’s an underlying nervousness there that only Fiore would ever be able to hear. “I promise that if you don’t enjoy it, or I don’t enjoy it, we’ll stop.” 

Fiore hums, just a teensy bit grumpily.

DeBlanc laughs again above him, just one short huff of a chuckle. There’s a drone, gentle and consistent, coming from somewhere to Fiore’s left, but he can’t parse out the cause of it at all. _It buzzes,_ DeBlanc had said as a hint, but Fiore’s got no idea what it could be. 

And then he jumps, startled, as soft rubber touches down on the sensitive part of his chest-- _nipple,_ his brain supplies helpfully for some reason, and he thinks that he must know that from the television, still playing in the background--with a steady buzz that sends a heatwave down his spine and between his legs again. His back arches involuntarily, fingers gripping at the duvet in shock. 

“ _Ah--_ ”

“Eyes closed,” DeBlanc says firmly, but there’s a definite shake to it. He’s holding whatever the thing is to Fiore’s chest, and Fiore can feel the weight of him looming, the stocky build of his human body that’s threatening and soothing in the same way. “Keep your eyes closed. Is it good?”

And that’s a hard question to answer-- DeBlanc shifts the thing again, moves it in a slow arc over Fiore’s chest until Fiore sucks in a deep breath and then groans from his chest. It, it _does_ feel good, certainly, but also overwhelming in a way that makes him almost want to stop. This body is sensitive, little spots on the side of his ribs that make him laugh suddenly and try to wiggle away.

“It’s-- different,” he gasps, eyes squeezed shut as tightly as he can. 

“Different can be good,” DeBlanc muses thoughtfully, half like he’s talking to himself. 

Fiore groans again, fingers digging into the comforter until the tips start to go numb. DeBlanc’s weight settles over him as he hauls one leg over Fiore’s waist, slowly trails the rubber down into the dip of Fiore’s stomach, down down down to the waistband of his slacks, and it makes Fiore choke out a soft “ _nhhgh_ ” noise that he doesn’t recognize as his own.

DeBlanc’s breath is warm in his ear when he leans down, keeps the buzzing there at the waistband.

“I could go lower?” he says softly. The words sound like they should be more assertive, but DeBlanc is questioning, asking what to do, where to go, as if either of them actually know. Fiore doesn’t answer immediately, too focused on the shaking of his thighs and how his back has gone tense. He can feel where DeBlanc is shaking, too. 

But silence is the answer, and when the buzzing presses down against the heavy fabric of Fiore’s pants, where he’s pressed against the seam hard and insistent since DeBlanc first started, Fiore very nearly jerks away, eyes opening before he can stop himself. 

He’s greeted with DeBlanc over him, cheeks rose red and lips parted. He’s staring down intently, watching every emotion that flickers across Fiore’s face, and he looks so elegant and _strong_ that Fiore wraps an arm around his neck, drags him down for a kiss again.

“What is that,” he demands, and DeBlanc smiles against his lips. 

“Do you, ah, do you remember when we were in Los Angeles, that odd little shop on the corner…”

Fiore’s eyes widen.

“That black buzzing thing?”

“The one that blonde woman sold to us, yes.” He moves it lower, presses it down hard until Fiore’s legs fall open and he moans again, eyes flickering closed. 

“How do you know how to use it?” he asks through his teeth, chest heaving. He’s known DeBlanc for well over a thousand years now, and they’ve never done anything like this. Where he’d get the knowledge is utterly beyond him. 

“I watch the television too,” DeBlanc says simply, and-- of _course_. There’s a charming, devil’s grin on his face, all white teeth and sparkling eyes. He looks very pleased with himself, like everything’s gone according to plan. And it probably has. This isn’t something either of them have ever indulged in. It’s new and it’s exciting, using this strange new thing they have on Earth. Fiore’s breath is coming in short now as DeBlanc keeps the tip of the vibrator pressed hard against the front of his pants, and his stare is so nervous and intense at the same time that Fiore wants to kiss him again. But the intensity of it is raising, making him shake hard, makes him feel like he’s sprinting towards the finish line. It’s like in Heaven but _visceral,_ it’s raw and it’s human.

“Take this,” DeBlanc says, moving the vibrator away to Fiore’s blessed relief. It sounds like he’s almost stumbling over his words, but he presses the handle into Fiore’s free hand and shifts down. Fiore’s grateful for the break, sucking huge breaths of air into human lungs until they burn. 

He can feel DeBlanc’s fingers fumbling at the button of his pants, at the zipper, and he remembers his rough, gritty voice when they were so much younger, _I want to see you, I want to see an angel, let me see._ It feels that way, feels like DeBlanc’s goal is to see and to take in.

His pants are pulled down to his mid-thigh, leaving him mostly exposed with his white shirt fanned out underneath him. DeBlanc climbs back up the length of his body but before he can do anything else Fiore’s cupped the back of his neck, dragged him down again. They’re kissing, hard and loving at the same time, and DeBlanc makes a soft noise into his mouth like a whimper, eyes fluttering shut so that his lashes brush against Fiore’s cheeks. Fiore pours love into it as best as he knows how in a body that isn’t his and hopes it gets through anyway.

Warm hands fumble and find purchase on each other’s bodies, and when they break apart, DeBlanc breathes out shakily through widely parted lips.

“Oh,” he says softly, and keeps himself up on his hands as Fiore’s fingers pull his shirt out from where it’s tucked. Fiore wants more contact, wants more skin, wants more _DeBlanc_ and for all his confidence and sharp wit outside of their little niche they’ve created for themselves in this world, DeBlanc listens to Fiore, dotes on him and lavishes affection. He complies when and because he _wants_ to, not because Fiore demands it. He keeps still as Fiore tries to undress him, and only twitches at too intimate touches and breathes out harshly when Fiore’s hands cup between his legs.

But when Fiore tries to wrap a hand around him, wants to touch the way they had in Heaven, the way they’d seen on the television, DeBlanc stops him.

“I’m not done yet,” he breathes, picking up the vibrator where Fiore had abandoned it on the bed. Fiore eyeballs it, but his hips twitch at how it buzzes and shakes. He’s anticipating more touch, and he knows he is, and it’s created a sticky mess of white on the tip of his cock, dripped down onto his stomach. That’s very curious. 

DeBlanc leans down again, hot skin and scratchy beard rubbing against the soft, thin skin of Fiore’s neck and jawline. Leaves pink scratches in his wake that itch and burn in a pleasant way. He still has the vibrator in one hand and when he presses it back, it’s between Fiore’s legs again, pressed against the underside of his cock, and _that-_ -

The vibrations surge up his spine, send a heat racing down between his legs that makes him groan with sudden, intense want. There’s a tightness in the small of his back, a tension that’s desperate to burst. He can feel DeBlanc’s lips curl up into a smile where they’re pressed to the skin behind his ear. 

“Good?” DeBlanc murmurs for a second time, kisses at his skin again. 

“...better,” Fiore replies, ever petulant. But there’s a smile threatening to spread across his face, and DeBlanc laughs softly in his ear, makes him shudder. One big hand spreads out across Fiore’s stomach as the other trails the vibrator, makes Fiore jump and stutter out a breath, a soft “ _yes_ ” as his eyes flutter closed again. 

DeBlanc takes that as a sign to go ahead, clearly, and his hand shifts, moves up so he can rub his thumb over a nipple before he leans down so that they nearly kiss. 

Fiore rides the feeling of it, of the vibrator sending sparks that make his muscles twitch and his toes curl and his stomach tense up. It feels good, it really does, but DeBlanc’s lips hovering over his are what make it. He wants to _kiss,_ wants to touch and feel and experience this act as closely as he can. 

What he’s not expecting is for there to be a higher setting.

That startles him, flares of pleasure arching his back as he groans long and loud, shaking uncontrollably. It ripples through him in waves, and almost cruelly DeBlanc doesn’t remove the vibrator, only presses it harder to the underside of Fiore’s cock until Fiore’s breath is choked and high. His heels dig into the mattress and his back arches, his hands scramble for a hold, and the world goes _white._

His entire body bears down as the tension in his spine snaps, a rubber band pulled too thin. It’s nothing like in Heaven; it burns through him with a pressure that has him crying out, one foot slipping on the duvet and one hand struggling to find something to bunch in while the other twists in the duvet. He catches the shoulder of DeBlanc’s shirt and he _pulls,_ delicate stitches in the material snapping. 

But DeBlanc follows, sits differently and keeps the vibrator going. He shushes Fiore with gentle little whispers, his free hand covering Fiore’s where the circulation has begun to cut off from how tightly the shirt’s wound. The orgasm feels like it never ends, waves of pleasure crashing through him as his hips spasm and his voice pitches higher. 

The last ripple of it has him twitching, and he slowly relinquishes DeBlanc’s shirt. It’s rumpled and bunched in his wake; Fiore just lets his arm fall to the mattress with a thump, trying to breathe. DeBlanc turns the vibrator off, but keeps the head touching very lightly to Fiore’s skin, and Fiore jumps every time he moves it.

“Well. You have made _quite_ a mess,” DeBlanc says fondly, but there’s a catch to his voice, and Fiore can feel his hips twitching. “How do you feel?”

“Brilliant,” Fiore croaks.

DeBlanc chuckles, voice low, and sets the vibrator aside. Fiore grabs at him again, wants to pull him down for more kisses than either of them know what to do with. Unfortunately, it’s wet when DeBlanc complies; there’s definitely a mess of white smeared along Fiore’s stomach, some of it on DeBlanc’s stomach now too from where they had pressed together to kiss. 

Oh well. Fiore sits up, tugs at the sleeves of his shirt until they can slide off his arms. DeBlanc watches curiously, and then his eyes light up with understanding as Fiore half-assedly wipes the mess off his stomach, gets enough of it off that it’s not immediately a problem. 

“I’ll rinse it out,” he says, when he sees that DeBlanc’s watching his motions. “Can’t be that much worse than blood.” 

Deblanc blinks, and then chuckles at him. He doesn’t protest when Fiore tosses the shirt onto the floor, nor does he protest when Fiore leans up, wraps an arm around his waist again to kiss him again. He’s still mostly dressed, comparatively, slacks open and shirt loose. Fiore wants to touch every part of him, wants to give him the same experience that still sending gentle, tight squeezes of pleasure in his stomach. 

DeBlanc’s human body is broad and stocky for its height, and Fiore knows that every time he shifts them to push DeBlanc into the bed, it’s in part because DeBlanc allows it to happen. Still, he makes an endearing “ _oof”_ noise when Fiore does so, lets himself be manipulated accordingly so that Fiore can tug off his pants and underwear, so that he can _look._

Only--

“I’ve _no_ idea what I’m doing,” Fiore says weakly, looming over DeBlanc. The latter only laughs, sunk into the duvet with color high in his cheeks and love in his eyes. 

“That’s fine. I didn’t really know what I was doing, either.” His eyes are mischievous. “You’ll have to wing it.” 

Fiore snorts, examines the vibrator curiously, clicks it on. He can feel DeBlanc’s eyes on him, clearly watching to see what it is he’s going to do. Part of Fiore wants to take his time, be a prat, but the rest of him knows that the trembling in DeBlanc’s thighs mean that he won’t last long anyway, and they haven’t got enough experience yet for Fiore to know how to hold it out longer. 

So he presses the vibrating head to the broad expanse of DeBlanc’s chest, watches the muscles jumping there as DeBlanc jerks and gasps in shock. 

Fiore’s grin is small and satisfied.

“Oh, that _is_ fun,” he says, and DeBlanc groans. 

“I suppose that’s what I get.” 

Fiore’s smile is still there when he presses the vibrator down lower, emulating what DeBlanc had done to him. It’s a strange combination of that, and what he’s trying to do on his own. There’s a strange balance between it, figuring it out, but DeBlanc makes a choked-off noise into the palm of his hand when Fiore trails it up.

Watching DeBlanc is an entirely different experience. He shudders underneath Fiore, eyes fluttering closed and expression one of bliss, and he’s so entirely beautiful there that Fiore almost forgets what he’s doing. A thousand years and he still has no idea how his life got to this point, a demon spread out underneath him with absolute trust, with absolute love. 

DeBlanc cracks an eye open, says, “you’re thinking awfully hard. What happened to act first, think later?”

Fiore frowns theatrically at him, not really meaning it, and DeBlanc yelps when Fiore finds the switch to up the vibrator’s tempo. Now he can _definitely_ see where it’s entirely attractive to watch, the muscles in DeBlanc’s arms bunching up as he arches back. He looks overwhelmed, hands clutching at the edges of the mattress to ground himself as Fiore moves the vibrator down to the crease between leg and groin, finding what gets him the best reaction.

There’s a good bit of Fiore’s body that makes it hard for him to rearrange himself, long limbs more than he necessarily knows what to do with, but he finds a balance of keeping the vibrator pressed down between DeBlanc’s legs, against his cock, and kissing him softly and sweetly the way Fiore knows he likes. Sure, in their early days they had been hard and it had been quick, hidden away from the rest of their armies, but now, here? There’s no need. 

He kisses gently, and DeBlanc _moans_ into it, eyebrows pulled together and arms wrapped tightly around Fiore’s shoulders. Part of him wants to know where he ends and DeBlanc begins, but-- but perhaps that has been so for a lot longer than either of them will say out loud.

DeBlanc comes when Fiore’s still kissing him, a long deep groan into his mouth as he falls apart underneath him, knees squeezing at Fiore’s sides. This time Fiore’s more aware and he can feel the wet splash against both of their stomachs, the heat from DeBlanc’s body as he shakes and tenses, back bending in a graceful arc that presses their chests together. 

For a few seconds the pair of them just stay still, DeBlanc twitching underneath him and Fiore on his hands and knees hovering uncertainly, and then Fiore just sort of flops down, buries his face into the side of DeBlanc’s head.

“I think,” DeBlanc says breathlessly, and one arm’s trapped by Fiore’s thin shoulders, “that we should use that again some time.” 

Fiore hums, presses another kiss behind DeBlanc’s ear, trails one down to the slope of his cheek. DeBlanc’s arm bends underneath his head, fingers scratching idly at the nape of Fiore’s neck. It feels lovely, feels intimate and _good,_ and Fiore snuggles up closer, yawning. 

"I think it's different for them," he says softly, and DeBlanc's chest shakes in another laugh. 

At that moment, a woman moans loudly in the room, sensual and overdone, and they freeze before realizing. 

“The television is still on,” Fiore almost whines, muffled by the pillow and DeBlanc’s neck and feeling very much like he’d like to take a nap. DeBlanc mumbles something, eyes closed, and they fall asleep like that anyway. The television drones on, but beyond that the world is quiet for now.

(Fiore absolutely forgets to soak his shirt, and DeBlanc tsks at him with a smile in his eyes.) 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk preacher with me on [tumblr](http://hullums.tumblr.com)!


End file.
